8 - upwards to infinity
Welcome to our eighth prompt post.
As ususal, here are a few things to keep in mind:
1) All fills for prompts of the earlier prompt posts go in the post the prompt was posted in. No re-posting or splitting up prompts and fills.
2) Self-prompt when you post unprompted fic. (This means posting what the fill is about in a first comment, like a real ( Read more... )
As ususal, here are a few things to keep in mind:
1) All fills for prompts of the earlier prompt posts go in the post the prompt was posted in. No re-posting or splitting up prompts and fills.
2) Self-prompt when you post unprompted fic. (This means posting what the fill is about in a first comment, like a real ( Read more... )
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Clearly there are some strong Goveballs vibes in the air today! And it's contagious! O_O
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"I meant stuff left in the red boxes. Important shit."
"The bible," Michael thinks, chewing on a fingernail. When Ed remains silent Michael sighs, packing away the guns into the padded case for the night. "In the Opposition's dispatch box. When the Commons was destroyed by a German bombing in 1941 the bible was saved from the wreckage. If we're going to spend dangerous daylight hours conserving British history we might as well take that."
Michael can see it now - the symbol of new government. When they're saved (it always has been an unfaltering certainty) the new British government will have their MPs sworn in on the bible of the last. Brilliantly Tolkienesque ( ... )
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"It needs winding," Michael sighs, as if there should be someone to do that for them, settling his head back down.
"Should we do that too?"
"I don't really wish to re-inact Fathers 4 Justice, Ed. I think scaling Big Ben might even be beyond you."
Big Ben chimes out and then goes silent. Michael doesn't sleep, staring up at the clock face and its hopelessly optimistic and incorrect time. Ed moves behind him, there's a rustle of plastic bag and Michael starts to complain about Ed pissing outside rather than into a bottle because they are civilised.
Ed just shoves the bag into Michael's lap as he sits up, like a cluelessly confused four year old being egged on by an eager father with a video camera to give his mother a present for Mothering Sunday day. Michael takes it gingerly, but empties everything onto the dirty blanket.
Pens. And paperMichael moves his head to Ed instinctively, wondering how and why and all the other questions that is isn't sensible to ask ( ... )
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it is the best, deserves the most love, and I would kill for more
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"I doubt the new world order would appreciate your BSF schemes any more than the last."
"I meant stuff left in the red boxes. Important shit."
AHHHH THIS DIALOGUE IS SO THEM I CANNOT BEAR IT. <3 <3 <3
Maybe Michael's the one close to going mad. Maybe Ed will stay sane.
Maybe they're the biggest OTP evarrrr omfg. ♥
If you have even the slightest inkling to do a sequel this, I would love to read it because holy education maintenance allowance this is good.
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“Minister! Minister! Get in the car!”
Society had advanced so far that I assumed the inevitable destruction of our country would be part of the final absolution of the entire world in a far off future by a supernova sun. If that didn’t happen and Britain was to fall alone, I believed (along with many others I have spoken to since the disaster) that the populous would be spared grief and pain through nuclear eradication, the destruction of everyone in one single moment.
“Minister of State, you must proceed to the bunker immediately.”
I have never been so wrong.“I refuse to move until I know exactly what is going on,” Michael said, matter-of-factly. Security had always been hellish when it came to protection and Michael always treated them as if the gift of an inch would result in the removal of a mile ( ... )
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*sits down and waits for second part*
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YOU HAVE ONE NEW MESSAGE.
It still makes me sick to think how many of the Cabinet must have died to let the Secretary of State for Education become Prime Minister.Michael puts the pen down and breathes out through his nose. It’s beyond chilling to think of those first days again. There had been so much confusion as the old ranks were pulled down by the anarchists and help never seemed to come. When the BBC finally stopped and the Emergency Broadcast was eaten away by whatever smart technology had rendered the phones, the internet and the SMS systems unusable. When the world ended ( ... )
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“Honestly, Ed, you were Shadow Home Secretary,” Michael mocks, pulling the blankets over them both. “You are aware that the English soil can support both crops and livestock ( ... )
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I am sorry for that and ILU
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